


Steadfast

by CozyCryptidCorner



Category: Original Work, exophilia - Fandom
Genre: Exophilia, F/M, Harpy, Male Harpy - Freeform, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21675412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyCryptidCorner/pseuds/CozyCryptidCorner
Summary: Like all harpies, the spoiled prince has an eye for shiny novelties, and unfortunately, that's you at the moment. That's the only reason he's attracted to you, you just have to figure out how to wriggle out of his good graces before he tries taking things too far.***If you are reading this on any third party apps (such as unofficialao3), or on any platform besides AO3, Tumblr, and Wattpad, then you are reading stolen work. I do not give consent for my stories to be published or pulled elsewhere.***
Relationships: Harpy/Reader, Monster/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 208





	Steadfast

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a prequel to [this kinktober prompt.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20886563/chapters/49763099)

There’s a salty bite to the air.

The cuts along your arms and legs sting, and you can feel the steady pulse of your heart slowly thrumming blood through them, like a metronome, almost. You look to your left, then slowly to your right, trying to find a break in the many guards lining the exits. Goddamnit, these people are learning not to trust you when you don’t have any shackles on, which… okay, that’s understandable, but can you get a break for once? You only tried running for the space between pillars _twice_.

The room you’re in is large, the domed ceiling able to rival that of the Roman Pantheon, with a large hole at the very top to let in sunlight. It’s not terribly hot, you’d estimate that you’re somewhere in the Mediterranean, keeping the ship’s last coordinates before the storm in mind. You’re on some kind of island that is not on any maps because a society of bird ladies would definitely have made headline news if anyone knew about it. But at the same time, a whole ass island isn’t something you can hide from satellites….

You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, but you don’t give your watcher any kind of sign that you’ve noticed him. Instead, you turn around to where a long table of appetizers sit, servants carrying trays of wine-filled goblets back and forth from the large pitchers that lie near the pillars for convenience. Can’t let the bird people go one minute without being absolutely hammered, can we? Some of the servants are human, like you… actually, most of them are, now that you’re taking a distinct moment to look them all over. That’s probably where you’ll end up once you’re no longer some kind of exclusive novelty for these people to look at.

And one person in particular likes to look, you’ve found. Besides the guards, because of course, at least two or three are giving you the side-eye; the international language of _don’t fucking try anything._ But you’re going to try, you just aren’t going to get caught, you decide, meandering over to where the appetizers are. There are many utensils on the table, that way you don’t get your hands up in someone else’s food. While nibbling on a bit of cracker, you try to take stock of what can be used to stab and what might be used to pick the locks of your’ room.’ You can’t be obvious about it, either, so you try to keep your face on the food, taking a bit of everything so the guards don’t get suspicious. There’s a large, two-pronged fork that you could use as a weapon, though you don’t have anywhere to stash it.

As you reach over to grab something probably bread-related, your hands brush up against the long fingers of someone you’re very familiar with. He takes the pastry in his hand and turns to face you, his expression most likely smug, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of making eye contact.

“Are you going to ignore me all night?” Diomêdês asks, taking a bite of the pastry. “You haven’t so much as wished me a happy birthday, and that makes me sad.”

“Well, I didn’t even know that’s why we’re here. Happy birthday.” You turn around and leave, but he follows.

“Everyone has brought me gifts, but you haven’t.”

“Funny story,” you say, rolling your eyes, “I think I lost my debit card in the ocean while I was almost drowning, so I’m kind of broke right now.”

Diomêdês seems… thrilled by your response. “I can be convinced to look past it.”

You know that he likes playing games with people’s heads, you’ve seen the others grovel at his feet, begging for his favor, lowering themselves in the hopes he might elevate them somehow. Pathetic, really, and without any guarantee that he’ll so much as offer his hand for them to smear their lipstick all over. “I’m sure you can be.”

It’s like a dance, one that you have to take extra care not to lead yourself out to the chopping block. Saying something outwardly hostile will get you a quick whack from any guard that overhears your sass, and that’s only if you’re lucky. While every little cell in your body fizzles with the desire to tell Diomêdês that he can eat your goddamn dick, you have to bite it down and bide your time. Playing dumb seems to be the most effective way to dodge bowing down and giving him what he wants while not risking getting stabbed by one of those decorated spears that the guards carry.

That is, only if Diomêdês isn’t hell-bent on making your day miserable, which seems to be the case.

“A visit from you tonight might make everything better.”

“Wouldn’t that be something.” You say cautiously, knowing that you can’t just leave the room and go back to your cell unless you were physically and visibly ill. After all, you are basically just a piece of decoration here, and so you must be front and center so the other harpies can gawk at you all they want. That doesn’t stop you from trying to find someplace to hide, eyes scanning the feast room for a tablecloth to maybe duck under, or a crowd to fade into. “I’m sure there are hundreds of females ready to break into your room when you retire for the night.”

“None of them are you.” He says it almost gently, but without the proper knowledge of kindness to make it genuine. There’s still a tone of demand in his voice, one that makes the rebellious side of you kick even harder, despite the slightest bit of yearning that you feel in the pit of your stomach.

“That’s correct.” People are looking at you now, as the eyes of the harpies tend to follow those with more power than they, and standing next to a prince places a rather large target on the back of your head.

He looks at you intently, as though he is about to come to some sort of great conclusion but can’t quite get there. “You will join me tonight.”

Your palms are sticky with sweat, and you know you can’t outright refuse him, especially in such an openly public setting with all eyes watching your every move. In a muted, dry tone, you assent, “Okay.”

And then he goes back to ignoring you as if you don’t even exist. Diomêdês got what he wanted from you anyway, and you suppose he couldn’t care to put effort into the conversation anymore. All through the rest of the feast, you’re on high alert, trying to figure out how you’re going to wriggle out of going to the prince’s room once the sun goes down, but you can’t really think of anything other than racing to the cliffside and throwing yourself over faster than the harpies can fly down and fetch you… and that’s not even a desirable outcome.

Of course, you get to be escorted by two armed guards to his bedroom, leaving you no other option but to walk through the two heavily decorated columns. You bite your lip as you timidly walk into the spacious room, one that should be considered far too large for a single person to use as their living space. The marble of the floors looks almost like smoke, varying between tones of gray and black, polished to the point where you can see your pale, shaky reflection. It feels cold against your bare feet, the ornament locked around your ankle softly jingling with every step you take. You fold your fingers together as you try to think of some way you are going to wriggle out of any uncomfortable expectations Diomêdês might have for you, coming up with a couple rather ludicrous and unlikely ideas.

His bed is in the center of the room, upon an elevated platform, and that’s where you find him, er, _cadoodling_ with a female of his species. The mattress isn’t rectangular like one you might find back home, but is round, though entirely big enough to fit a good-sized orgy should he be in the mood for one. Only when you are close enough to see how the feathers along his wings puff out and twitch does he notice your presence. Diomêdês sits up, completely unbothered by his nakedness, and looks you over with the same unsettling stare that he gave you the first day the two of you met. You don’t give him the satisfaction of showing embarrassment, though, because you know he enjoys making others uncomfortable, and return his gaze with an unabashed glare.

“Get out,” he says to the female who is now lounging leisurely at his side.

She obeys without question, reaching over to the light blue chiton lying on the floor and slipping it back over her head in one, fluid motion. You only offer her a parting glance, and she arches her eyebrows in response. Not in disdain, you realize far later, but rather with curiosity.

“Sit down,” Diomêdês says, patting the mattress by his side.

You look behind you before responding, checking to see if there are any guards to hear your defiance. “I’d rather stand.”

Diomêdês looks at you then, his head cocked to the side as though he can’t believe what he just heard. Then, more insistently, he says, “sit.”

You harden your voice. “No.”

His brow furrows slightly, his eyes darting down to the ground as he thinks over your audacity to even breathe a word of defiance. Before he can open his mouth, you interrupt his train of thought with a wild shot in the dark.

“I’d like to tell you a story, your grace.”

The side of his mouth twitches, not in a smile, no, but in a frown. “A story? Do you think that I’m a child?” He asks, his voice sullen and angry.

“About where I’m from,” you elaborate, gesturing out with your palms. “You know… where the humans live.”

That catches his attention because speaking of your homeland is strictly forbidden, though you don’t know why. You learned from another human that the queen, Diomêdês’ mother, decreed the law herself, seemingly out of nowhere, but the punishment is severe. You know, because you’ve experienced it, and the lashes on your back have barely healed up by now. A second offense would surely have worse consequences, but you’re willing to take a gamble that the prince enjoys that which is forbidden… knowledge, objects, things he shouldn’t have.

After a nerve-wracking moment, and with a crazed look in his ocean-blue eyes, he demands, “tell me. Tell me everything…. leave no details out.”

A numb kind of relief floods your veins, and you try to think of a place to start. You honestly didn’t expect you would make it this far, so you aren’t even sure what he might like to know. It takes you only a brief second to sort out your thoughts, categorizing things until you have a nicely bulleted list of topics to shift through in your head, and then you begin.

“So airplanes are a thing that exist…”

**Author's Note:**

> [Dress the protag is wearing.](https://cozycryptidcorner.tumblr.com/post/622730979838230528/i-decided-to-draw-some-of-the-dare-i-say-iconic)


End file.
